Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Sacred Sword

"I say," I exclaimed, turning to the others, "there seems to be some sort of rope made of knotted sheets dangling from a window of this house."

My words had an immediate effect. A quick glance passed between Holmes and Orloff, and the sleuth darted for the curved staircase leading to the upper story. I was right on his heels and as I stumbled after Holmes, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a remarkable sight. Orloff had not made a move towards the stairs. Instead, as though levitated, he was now on the top of the stout table, but for no more than an instant. Two steps forward on the table surface and his steel legs dipped and then straightened with a surge of power and he was in the air, arms outstretched and above his head. His leap would have been admired by a ballet dancer! Then widespread fingers gripped the top of the balcony railing and the amazing power of his arms and shoulders took over, propelling his body upwards. His legs tucked in and then swung between those knotted arms with exquisite grace, the hands were released and, catlike, he was on the gallery as Holmes and I came round the curve in the stairs.

Orloff's movements were without pause. Already he was flowing across the floor and his shoulder crashed against the door of the bedroom, knocking it asunder like a battering ram. There was a flash of light from within the room and the thunder of a gun, but the security agent had dropped to the floor in a rolling movement. Scrambling to the head of the stairs, Holmes and I could see the bedroom interior. By an open window, an indistinct figure had one leg through the opening. Three more flowers of light blossomed from the vicinity of the man's right hand, and the roar of sound was continuous. The ever-moving mass that was Orloff had rolled behind a substantial chair and was coming to a semi-erect position, his hand reaching to the back of his neck and the chamois sheath attached between his shoulder blades. His arm was no more than a blur, and then there was the flash of metal, but the Toledo steel of his Spanish throwing knife, buried itself in the window frame, for the figure had dropped through the opening.

I thought I heard a splash from without as I reached the bedroom door. Orloff had moved behind his knife, brushing the chair in front of him away as though it were a toy. Then the first interruption in his continuous flow of movement from the floor below to the bedroom occurred. Crossing like a quicksilver shadow towards the window, his foot stumbled over a small stool, unseen in the dim light, and his legs came out from under him. But it did not stop him. The man's reflexes were truly of another world, for in midair he dipped into a forward roll, his thick neck and shoulders caressing the floor and, of a sudden, he snapped erect on both feet beside the window.

His actions really defied description, for though they were made with a speed that one could not accept in retrospect, such was his grace that he seemed to float in slow motion, an illusion fostered by the total absence of any wasted movement. When danger crooked its ominous digit and invited mischance, Orloff seemed to embark on a programmed path, always one step in advance of fate's finger. An outstretched palm halted Holmes's progress towards the window, and I bumped into him from behind.

"They've fished him into a gondola," said the security agent in a calm voice suitable for an invitation to tea. "They're turning into the main canal." As he spoke, his right hand dipped to his wasteband and a small-caliber revolver seemed to materialize. "I could—"

"No." stated Holmes flatly. "The fireworks have covered the gunfire, but let's not have target practice in the San Canciano. By the time we reach our waiting gondola they will have lost themselves in the canal traffic, so we'd best write this matter off."

Holmes raised the flame in a gas lamp, throwing additional illumination into the room.

"No aspersions on your marksmanship, good fellow. I know you could have picked the intruders off like clay pigeons, but I'm not sure that's the way we wish to play it." Orloff's green eyes were locked with the sleuth's for a moment, and a shadow of understanding touched his face. Then the handgun disappeared, and he calmly retrieved his throwing knife from the window frame, tucking it back between his shoulder blades with an automatic movement.

He then indicated a makeshift rope anchored to the bed and running through the window. "How about this?"

Holmes shrugged, having already noted the bed sheets hurriedly knotted together. "Improvised, which tells us this incident was not preplanned."

As Orloff drew the line of bed linen back through the window there was an exclamation from the landing, and Howard Andrade, puffing from his ascent, was regarding us with wide, startled eyes. I had quite forgotten the good man, but his appearance served as a further reminder of all that had happened in such a brief period of time. Our host had been spectator to the abrupt departure of his three visitors, then the sound of a shattered door, a burst of gunfire, and finally silence. Having recovered his wits and made his way upstairs, he found nothing but two men calmly analyzing the scene and another, myself, looking befuddled.

"I say," Andrade stammered, "what have we here? A mameluke revolt?"

His voice was a full octave higher than normal. Suddenly his eyes darted round the room. "Where is Aaron?"

"Your assistant?" questioned Holmes.

"Aaron Lewis. I secured his services in Venice."

Suddenly I shook off the dazed feeling that had enveloped me.

"Look here, you said this Lewis chap was exhausted and had retired before collapsing. This is your bedroom?"

"Yes," replied Andrade. "Lewis normally resides in a small room on the ground floor. I sent him up here so that my potting around would not disturb the poor fellow."

"Why, it's as plain as a pikestaff," I said triumphantly. "The intruders were after you, and spirited away your assistant by mistake."

"Good Lord, why?"

Since neither Holmes nor Orloff seemed disposed to offer a comment, I elaborated for the benefit of the startled cryptographer.

"Someone wishes to learn the code of the secret writings. That's rather obvious."

"I think," said Holmes gently, "that a discussion is called for."

Falling in with his thought, I rather led Andrade towards the stairs and the living room below.

Questions bubbled to the surface of my mind but were submerged by my medical training. Andrade seemed to be suffering a reaction from all the excitement, and I thought it well to get him seated below, securing some alcoholic stimulation for him from a well-stocked cabinet.

In a moment the Egyptologist's color improved, and he was able to regard the three of us with a whimsical expression.

"This rather bizarre occurrence is much more in your line, Mr. Holmes, than mine. Am I to assume that there might be more of the same?"

It was Wakefield Orloff who spoke up. "I think not, sir. At least, I shall take suitable precautions to make sure your domicile is not invaded again."

I well knew what that meant. More of Mycroft Holmes's faceless men would appear. For all I knew, Orloff might already have associates at his beck and call in Italy.

Andrade took another sizable sip of his libation. "What is the meaning of all this melodrama, gentlemen, and what about Aaron Lewis, my poor associate?"

Warned by the haunted look in his eyes and fearing palpitations, I spoke instantly and in my most soothing doctor manner.

"Once the hoodlums learn they have the wrong man, surely they will release Lewis from their clutches."

"Let us hope so," said Holmes. It struck me that his manner was surprisingly casual. "About your assistant, Mr. Andrade. How did he happen to come into your employment?"

"I am a bachelor, so it was easy for me to pull up stakes and come to Venice in search of solitude to complete my project. The house is mine by virtue of a generous, now departed, uncle, I knew that I was on the verge of a breakthrough, and my work was intensified. At this point, much filing was required. I was at my wits' end when Lewis appeared at my door, much as Mr. Orloff did but recently."